I heard him head upstairs into the kitchen. He returned and handed me a set of keys. “There’s a Honda CRV in the driveway, it’s mine, or it’s yours now.”
Before I could resist he continued, “I’ll use Chuck’s Jeep, it’s better for hauling wood and heavy stuff than the Honda.”
I thanked him again for all the help and asked him to join me.
He replied, “Nah, lived here all my life. I have a house down in Scituate, but Chuck’s was closer on the 5th, and I knew it was safer.”
I was quiet for a minute then said, “You have a family down there?”
He frowned sadly and said, “No, I’ve dated a lot, but never got serious with anyone.” He paused before continuing, “My father was really abusive, to Chuck and me, as well as our Mom. Our folks died when Dad drove them into a wall in Milton, back in ’98. Police said it was an accident, but there were no skid marks.”
His expression got even more pained as he continued, “Chuck was married five times. Four of his wives disappeared without a trace, his fifth wife, Carla, was taken by the FBI and relocated while he was out of the country in 2012. Keeping your dirty laundry hidden is one of the perks the CIA bestows on its most proficient killers. With that many skeletons in my family’s closet, I figured it was better, and safer for others, for me to stay single.”
I took his hand and said, “Just the way you’ve treated me shows me you are not Chuck or your Dad. If you find someone in this mess, you better hold on to her for life.”
We talked for a few more hours before I stood and said, “I’m going to turn in for the night, I want to get an early start tomorrow.”
I hugged him good night and thanked him again.
After a big breakfast and a long, very hot shower, we readied for my departure. The area was free of undead as far as we could see. I still loaded my stuff and Mr. Crowley into the small SUV as quietly as possible. I tried to leave Crowley with Frank, but the cat wasn’t having it.
Frank hugged me one more time and said quietly, “If you ever get back to Weymouth, look me up.” with a huge smile and a boatload of New England sarcasm attached.
I shook his hand out of respect for all he’d done for me, before jumping in the SUV, and pulling out of the driveway.
44
We were safe for now. With Mr. Crowley firmly attached to my shoulders, claws and all, I jumped up to catch a fire escape ladder on the side of the building. The first two windows were locked, but my luck improved on the third floor. I slipped through the window and closed it just as I heard my pursuers pass below me.
I was bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds. Most had closed to some degree, but not completely. I could feel a couple bullets still lodged in my back and left thigh. My accelerated healing was not working as well as had in the past, and I couldn’t figure out why.
It had been four or five days since we left Frank’s place in Weymouth. We were on the western outskirts of Auburn, MA. I was looking for gas for the CRV when I met a group of survivors who seemed very helpful and friendly. They offered me food, shelter, and to fill the tank on my Honda. Their leader, Robert, was a skinny, crack-head looking guy with a perpetual unlit cigarette hanging from the left corner of his mouth. He sold me on how his group was going start putting the area back together. They turned out to be just the opposite after I had entered their settlement a few blocks over.
Things were fine at first. They even got a kick out me traveling with a cat. It all changed when I turned in for the night. A couple of guys I never met snuck into my room to rape me. Leaving them with multiple injuries on the floor, I grabbed Crowley, my stuff and left.
I planned on turning them into Robert but ran into a hail of bullets from him and the rest of his crew as I exited the apartment. With bullets whizzing by us, I grabbed Crowley off my shoulders and stuffed him unceremoniously inside my leather jacket, as I ran. To his credit, the big Tom Cat didn’t protest at all.
My next plan was to leave Auburn and find a place to hide out miles from here. I had to scrap this plan when I realized my body wasn’t healing as fast as it had in the past.
What’s the saying about your best-laid plans? Mine were all turning into a big pile of stinky turds right now. I ended up playing cat and mouse with these assholes for the next 2 hours. I was too weak to go too far. I needed a place to rest and recover.
I slid down the darkened apartment hallway wall trying doors as I passed by. I stopped short and swore under my breath. I had left my tactical vest on the bed! I was still swearing at myself as the second to last door opened as I turned the knob, I sighed thankfully as I slipped inside and shut the door.
Crowley and I practically jumped out of our skins as someone behind us said, “Well hello there young lady.”
I turned to see a very elderly gentleman in a high-backed leather chair. I gauged him to be in his 90s, or older. He was dressed in a light blue button-down shirt, tan khakis, and slip on loafers. His face was very expressive and kind. His olive skin and ice blue eyes were framed by the bright white of his hair and beard. I thought “Skinny Santa Claus on vacation” as he smiled even more at me.
I noticed two yellow and green parakeets on his right shoulder, so did Mr. Crowley. He mewed, as his tail swatted me in the face.
The man said, “You leave my birds alone, or you can wait outside.” to the cat.
The birds flew to a perch behind him as he picked up an ornate wooden cane and used it to stand up.
I explained, “I’m very sorry to disturb you, Sir. I’ve got some not so nice people chasing me and needed a place to hide. I don’t want to cause you any trouble by bringing them here. I’ll find somewhere else to hide.”
Waving me off with his free hand, he said, “It’s no trouble and you’ll do no such thing. You’re in my house now, and under my protection.”
I smiled at the thought of someone this old protecting me. As he got closer, I realized he was blind!
He held his hand in the air, and introduced himself, “Avram is my name, what is your’s, child?”
I took his hand, it was soft and warm, with a strong, firm grip for someone his age.
I replied, “My name is Ashleigh Rhodes, sir. Thank you for your hospitality.”
He smiled, “You are welcome in my house anytime Ms. Ashleigh – Old English name, suits you. Please sit, you look like you could use some rest.”
He waved me to a matching chair I had missed when I first entered the apartment. Removing my cat, pack, and rifle, as I sat down in the big chair.
I asked multiple questions with concern, “Do you live here all by yourself? Are you doing okay? Do you have enough food and water? Do you know what’s going on around here?”
Waiting until I was finished, and he was seated, he replied, “I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. You have a kind heart, nice to see in the world as it is now. I’m alone, but I have visitors from time to time, who help take care of me.”
The second Avram was seated, Crowley became a fixture in his lap. The big cat gobbled up all the affection the old man was giving him like a starving man would food, purring like a well-tuned V8 motor.
Avram continued, “Just had a tall fella with dark hair and the weight of the world on his shoulders here a couple weeks ago. He has a good heart too. You and he are very alike, though you have more balance than he ever will.
I know everything that’s happened, well, I know enough about it for now. Where are you headed, Ms. Ashleigh? The world is a very dangerous place for a woman to be traveling in alone.”
I laughed painfully and said, “Yes it is, but I can take care of myself. I’m heading to Tucson to find my family.”
He returned my smile, “I’m very sure you can take care of yourself. But tonight you are my guest. Alright, that’s enough talking for now, young lady, you need to rest. We will speak again later.”
I was overcome with exhaustion as I sat back in the chair. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and felt myself nodding off.
&nbs
p; I mumbled, “I’m sorry, I’m so tired.”
I was already drifting into a deep sleep as I heard him reply, his voice seeming to be inside my head as well as all around me.
“It’s okay my child, rest now, when you awaken you must eat.”
My last coherent thought was how odd it was that “eat” sounded like “feed” before the darkness and silence cocooned me, and I slept.
I awoke in the same chair to sunlight pouring through the blinds on my right. I moved slowly, assessing my injuries. My body was still damaged, but the two mushroomed bullets that fell to the floor as I stood up told me I was getting better. As the bullets clattered across the wood floor, I realized three things. There was only one chair, Avram, and his birds, were not here, and there was a Hunter on the tile floor in the small kitchen.
I went tactical as soon as I saw it but quickly realized that the creature’s neck was broken. It was still alive - undead, whatever you want to call it, but it couldn’t move more than its eyes and mouth.
A whisper of Avram’s earlier statement drifted through my mind, “….when you awaken you must eat.” I was still unsure whether he had said “eat” or “feed.”
What was more confusing and terrifying to me was there was an incapacitated Hunter here for just that purpose. How could he have known what I was, or needed, when I was still figuring it out for myself? And how the hell did a post 90-year-old guy get one up on an apex zombie predator like this? How did he know that it needed to be a Hunter vs. a George?
While scrounging around in a small sporting goods store shortly after leaving Frank’s place, I tried to feed on a George. It didn’t go so well. As a matter of fact, minus losing Swede, it was about the most terrible thing I’ve ever experienced. I think I threw up for just short 12 hours. While a Hunter tastes bad, a George was beyond vile. This was also when I realized while I fed on humans, I only consumed the blood of Hunters.
I shook my head as I looked carefully at the zombie at my feet. Was all of this just a figment of my pain-induced imagination? Did I do this to the zombie without knowing it? Other than the fiasco with the George, I realized the last time I fed was on the Venture. I had purposely avoided feeding. I wanted to see if feeding on the undead was mandatory, or if I could ignore the urge. It seemed that my need to feed was connected to how much damage my body had endured. I wondered what would happen if got hurt after going an extended time without feeding. I guess I had my answer.
The rest of my questions would have to wait. I was still injured and could feel the desire to feed taking over. I attacked and drained the broken Hunter with animalistic abandon.
After feeding, I cleaned up and disposed of the body. I felt better than I had since I left Frank’s place. A wave of warm contentment accented with the scent of leather passed over me as I put the cleaning supplies back under the kitchen sink. It felt good to leave this apartment cleaner than I found it. This was the first time Adachi took center stage in a while. As before, I wondered if Myers memories, habits, and knowledge were more dominant due to how aggressive and forceful he was.
Gathering my stuff, I searched the apartment, finding only the clothing and generic items of an older person. I thought it odd that there were no pictures at all - anywhere. I added this to the growing list of weird shit I had experienced over the last two months as Crowley and I left.
Seeing no signs of the men that were hunting me the night before, I headed across the street to a small used car dealer sitting on a corner lot. From the window of the apartment, I saw a full-sized SUV in the front row that would fit my needs nicely. A small, portable office trailer sat in the back corner of the lot. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked tight.
Setting Crowley, my M4, and pack on the stairs near me, I grabbed the doorknob tighter and turned it as hard as I could. I heard and felt the internal mechanism of the lock fracture and come apart from my assault. Dropping the crushed doorknob on the ground, I put a couple fingers inside the hole and pulled out the guts of the lock, releasing the door.
The office was a combination of dirt, mismatched furniture, clutter, and paperwork, all fragranced with the smell of bad coffee. All typical to used car sales. I saw a key storage box on the far wall. I was pleasantly surprised to find the box unlocked. Grabbing the keys, I headed for the SUV, stopping only long enough to take a large steel toolbox and a case of bottled water that sat on the floor near the door. Crowley followed me to the SUV and jumped in as I was putting tool box and water inside. After collecting my rifle and pack, I jumped in the truck and fired it up, eager to leave Auburn behind us.
Leaving city was relatively easy. Easy when it came to not running into those that wanted to do us harm. As a matter of fact, we saw no one, alive or undead for over an hour. Traveling was a little more difficult. It helped that the big SUV allowed us to go through yards, fields, and medians to avoid the thousands of vehicles that clogged the roads. Some streets were gridlocked with abandoned vehicles while others were wide open.
I had to cut across a golf resort to skirt a particularly bad area. As I passed through, I saw a private gas pump in the maintenance area of the course. I pulled in but ignored the pump itself. I knew it wouldn’t work without power, or the special key that authorized its use.
I pulled the soft case that held my manual siphon out of my pack and set on the tailgate as I searched the toolbox for what I needed. Finding it, I went for the ground plate that covered the access to the underground storage tank. Prying it open with a large flat-bladed screwdriver, I could smell the fumes pouring out of the filler neck, as I slipped the siphon hose down it. Once I was sure it was deep enough, I moved to the SUV and put the other end into the fuel tank, and started pumping the handle. It was slow going and left me exposed for much longer than I anticipated, or liked.
Frank had told me there were electric siphons that connected to the vehicle’s battery, but neither of us had any idea where to get one. I kept checking sporting goods stores but had no luck finding one. I made a mental note to check hardware and car parts stores when I had a chance.
When the tank overflowed, I pulled the hoses from both tanks to drain while I put the cover plate back. Others might need fuel to help with their escape. I cleaned out my siphon and set it in the back of the SUV to dry out. Putting everything back in the SUV, I jumped in and headed west.
45
I had been walking for about a week since I abandoned the SUV I picked up in Auburn and was ambushed by the Gym Rat Hunters and their pals. I knew I was getting fairly close to the Massachusetts / New York border.
The Western Massachusetts countryside was beautiful, even after a zombie apocalypse. The view was great, but if I wanted to make it to Tucson before I turned forty, I’d have to find a new vehicle. I really needed to know what happened to my family.
I climbed over the guardrail, heading down the embankment to a small group of houses below. I kept my actions as quiet as possible, no need to wake any local zombies out of their semi-catatonic state due to excessive noise. I stepped off the embankment and onto the road, looking left and right at a dozen houses in front of me.
The front doors of two homes stood wide open, making the homes look like they were silently screaming. Brownish-red dried blood painted a macabre path from the white picket fence to the open front door of one of the homes, giving grim testimony to what happened here.
I turned left, heading towards the far home. I had seen a large, manufactured steel garage behind the house while descending the highway embankment. I was hoping there would be a usable vehicle there. As I approached the house, I saw a trapped George looking at me through the front window of the home, too stupid to escape. The remnants of its stringy blonde hair and old smeared makeup made her look like a clown that nightmares are built on.
I opened the chain link driveway gate, and let Mr. Crowley off my shoulders. Our standard operating procedure now was to let him hide somewhere close by until the situation was safe. He slipped silently into the large ever
green bushes below the front window.
I walked down the driveway slowly, hand on Thunker, just in case. A large zombie in a flannel shirt, overalls, and work boots stumbled away from the back door as soon as I passed into its view. There were no apparent signs of violence on this one. This was unusual, but not unheard of. It could be Farmer George kissed the woman in the house goodbye as she was turning. Or he killed a turned neighbor and was splashed with zombie gore. When it came to being infected, getting their body fluid in the eyes, or mouth was just as effective as being bitten. Guess there were a few things Hollywood got right.
Slipping Thunker from its sheath, I waited for Farmer George to get closer. As its arms came up to grab me, it caught my scent. The zombie dropped its arms and turned away in a lethargic attempt to flee. My theory was that at a distance, Georges saw me acting non-zombie-like and figured I was food. But when they got a whiff of Eau De Ashleigh, I must smell similar to a Hunter, causing them to try to flee. I had no way to test my theory, but it made more sense now that I knew Hunters preyed on Georges when living targets were scarce.
I whipped the mace around hard, nailing the zombie in the side of the head, easily crushing its skull. The zombie issued a long sigh as it collapsed on itself, almost as if it was relieved to be released from its undead nightmare. I surveyed the area, relaxing slightly when I verified I was alone.
I made my way down the rest of the long driveway to the front of the garage, trying the person-sized door to the right of the roll-up door. It was unlocked and opened easily. I stepped into the darkened garage, immediately wanting to open the rolling door for added light, but worried about the extra noise it would make. I looked left and smiled. Sitting there was a beautiful, new, four-door pick-up truck. Its white paint gleaming slightly in the dim light. I searched the truck and garage for keys but couldn’t find them. I made my way back outside to Farmer George’s corpse and searched his pockets, turning up nothing but an old pocket knife.
The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes Page 18
